


A Day In The Life

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is sick and he and Sam are stuck in the Impala in the middle of nowhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day In The Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KimberlyFDR](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimberlyFDR/gifts).



> Written as a Christmas present for the lovely kimberlyfdr who gave the prompt “life in the bunker”. Since I'm behind with Supernatural, this is “life in the Impala” instead.

Sam shifted, spine popping as he moved. His back ached, his knees ached, his elbows were black and blue from hitting the steering wheel and if Dean didn't stop snoring soon fratricide was going to be the least of his problems.

“I'm ill,” Dean said, as if he could read Sam's mind.

“Sick more like,” Sam replied. He shifted again, hit his knee against the window and turned the car blue.

“Language!” Dean said around a cough.

Sam growled and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He started walking down the road until his breathing had slowed down and then stopped, stretching his arms above his head.

It wouldn't be so bad, stuck out in the middle of nowhere, if Dean wasn't actually, genuinely, ill with the flu.

Dean did not do ill well. Broken ribs, broken leg, sprained wrist, bullets, knife wounds, none of them would slow him down, but a temperature and sore throat and cough? That was enough to have him asking for death.

It was more than a little frustrating. Especially when Sam didn't have the patience to look after him, he never had.

Dean was the one who did the looking after, the protecting. Sam just took and took.

With an angry sigh Sam kicked out at a nearby tree, sending soft flakes of snow fluttering around his head. It hadn't been that way for a long while now, but Sam still felt like that awkward kid who didn't quite understand the way the world worked.

He stopped where he stood and looked around. The forest went on for a few miles, there was as little chance of being rescued as there was of being interrupted. Civilisation was too far for him to walk to, at least with Dean in his current condition.

Well, no, he probably could leave Dean pretty easily. But he didn't want to.

And that, after all, was part of the problem.

Sam took out his phone, nodded to himself when he saw there was no signal, and headed back to the car.

He ducked down as he passed, reassuring himself that Dean was still passed out in the back seat and then headed to the trunk. He started moving things around, sorting out the supplies they'd bought at their last contact with the world.

Grabbing the sandwiches (his idea) and the donuts (Dean's), plus the spare flashlight and a blanket, he shut the trunk and went to the drivers side of the car. He hesitated for a moment and then walked around to the back. Peering through the window he could see Dean was still curled up on the seat, eyes closed, shirt riding up enough to expose a slither of skin.

He quickly opened the door and shifted Dean's legs out of the way so he could sit down.

“Dean?” he whispered. “Dean, I know you're awake.”

Dean faked snuffled and put his feet in Sam's lap. Sam sighed.

“I brought food.”

Dean's eyes fell open straight away and he made grabby hands in Sam's direction. Sam took out one of the sandwiches and tossed it onto Dean's chest.

With a lot of unnecessary flexing of muscles, and the continual reveal of slithers of skin as his t-shirt rode up, Dean sat up and tore into the sandwiches.

“You're welcome,” Sam said.

Dean waved in his direction and mumbled something through a mouthful of food. Sam looked away, vaguely disgusted.

“Ims sofgyt,” Dean said.

Sam aggressively bit into his own sandwich and ignored Dean. The car was hot and stuffy and smelled of illness and Sam really wanted to crank a window open, but he was afraid that would lead to another argument that he didn't really have the energy for.

Dean shifted closer to him, nudging their shoulders together. Sam ignored him. Then Dean laid his head on Sam's shoulder and Sam felt his resolve weakening.

“You're so easy,” Dean said, though it was a quieter whisper than Sam was expecting.

“Not the word you want to be using right now,” Sam said. But he did lay a hand on Dean's forehead and stroked at his hair before he could stop himself. “You've still got a temperature.”

“I'm hot, you mean,” Dean said and although Sam couldn't see it, he could hear the accompanying grin.

“We can't stay here for much longer,” Sam said, avoiding replying. If nothing else he was worried that the close confines of the car would make him coming down sick inevitable, and if Dean was bad at being a patient, he was even worse at being a doctor. At least that's what Sam kept telling himself.

“You've got us covered,” Dean said. He wriggled a little into Sam, his hand suddenly hot on Sam's leg.

“Dean?”

“My baby okay?” Dean asked, ignoring Sam's question.

“The car's fine,” Sam replied. He liked the Impala, as far as cars went, but he would never feel the same way about it as Dean did. Dean felt differently about a lot of things.

“Good. Don't like my things to be hurting.”

It was then that Sam had a sneaking suspicion that Dean had been helping himself to some of their good drugs, the ones they occasionally borrowed from hospitals and unattended drug carts for use in emergencies only. A head cold did not count as an emergency as far as Sam was concerned.

“You shouldn't take drugs on an empty stomach,” Sam said. He tried to lean forward to Dean's side of the car and read the label on whatever drugs he'd taken. But Dean was surprisingly strong for a man who was supposed to be dying, and sneaky, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of Sam's head that made Sam immediately stop what he was doing.

“Dean, we can't...”

“I'm sick,” Dean said. “You're supposed to make me feel better.”

“I don’t have to...” But Sam's words died in his throat as Dean began to work on undoing Sam's belt, his fingers surprisingly dexterous for a man who'd needed help going to the bathroom only four hours ago.

“What was that?” Dean asked. “I didn't quite catch...”

“Dean,” Sam interrupted. “Shut up.”

Dean just laughed as Sam opened his legs to give Dean better access.

Well, it wasn't as if they had anything else to do to pass the time. And never let it be said that either of them didn't take advantage of a little down time when it presented itself.


End file.
